


Occasionally, Even an Englishman Can Say What’s On His Mind

by melliott929



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9327782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melliott929/pseuds/melliott929
Summary: After whatever happens in The Final Problem happens, John makes a realization.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think Moffit/Gatiss are going to end S4 the way I would, so here's my version, just in case it's helpful to someone.

It was after everything. After Mary and no Mary and Eurus (or at least enough of whatever happened with her to feel like closure). Time wore down the sharpest edges of grief and pain, and John learned to be, if not “okay,” then close enough to fake it. 

It helped that they moved to Baker Street. He and Rosie were now ensconced in the safety and familiarity of the well-worn flat. Despite the drugs, the erratic behavior and the dear-daily dance with danger, John felt safer with Sherlock. No, that wasn’t really it. He felt “right” with Sherlock. And he was at a place where even though he had lost far too much, he was more grateful than ever for all he still had.

Which is why even a mundane evening of crap telly and friendly banter was something to look forward to when it was spent in Sherlock’s company. On this night, the dinner dishes were drying in the rack, Rosie was sleeping soundly and the kettle had just boiled. John was just beginning to flip through the channels when Sherlock entered. Surprisingly to John, he was in his Belstaff rather than his dressing gown.

“Has Lestrade called?” John asked, assuming only a case would get Sherlock out of the house at this hour.

“No, I’m…meeting someone,” Sherlock replied, not making eye contact.

Now John was intrigued. If Sherlock was being evasive, there must be a reason.

“Someone?” 

Sherlock checked his phone and then finally turned to John. “The Woman.”

John let out a startled, “oh.”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered.

“The Woman,” John repeated.

“Yeeeeesss,” Sherlock said, “are you alright?”

“Me? Yes, fine.” John was still having a hard time wrapping his head around this. Sherlock was going out with Irene Adler? He hadn’t heard her distinctive text alert in a while, probably not since he had encouraged, well, practically bullied Sherlock into meeting her…

“You did say I should meet with her…”

“Yes, I did…”

“’Do something while you still have a chance, because that chance doesn’t last forever,’ I believe you said,” Sherlock says flippantly.

“Right, yes, but…,” John fumbles.

“But?”

The two men stare each other down, waiting to see if years of whatever flows beneath the surface of their relationship will finally crest. Sherlock leans in a bit more, almost daring John to say it, to release all the tension that has been building over the past six year. 

Finally, John blinks and leans back. “But…nothing. Glad to hear you’re going for it, mate,” he says behind a forced smile.

“Good.” 

“Good.”

“Well,” Sherlock says, pulling on his gloves, “have a pleasant evening, John.”

For some reason, John feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “Yeah, you, too.”

Sherlock looks over his shoulder before pulling the door closed behind him. John stands in the sitting room, adrift, legs trembling. He would sit down, but he’s not sure he’s sturdy enough to get to his armchair. He feels like he’s spinning, like he slammed a glass of champagne, like the rug has been pulled from under him, like the whole world is going one way and he’s going the other. Oh, god, what has he done?

He sent the man he loves into the arms of Irene Adler? What was he thinking? Of course, when he had given the advice, so many months ago, the idea of Sherlock and Irene was completely different. He had just lost Mary and was encouraging Sherlock to have even a bit of that kind of connection with someone. John had lost his love, but at least he’d had one. But Sherlock….well, as far as John knew, Sherlock had never had someone who loved him like John loved Mary. 

But now, now the thought of Sherlock spending the evening anywhere other than Baker Street was abhorrent and the idea of Sherlock spending the night with anyone other than John…well, it was unbearable. 

Before he was even aware of making the decision to move, John was across the room, ready to run down the stairs and out into the night to stop Sherlock from leaving to be with Irene. John rips open the door with a shout of “Sherlock,” but stops abruptly as the man himself is not out on the street hailing a cab, he is standing on the other side of the door, where he’s been al this time.

Sherlock looks as determined as John feels. “You told me to be with the person who makes me want to be a better man. That’s not her, it’s you.,” Sherlock says, his throat thick with emotion. 

John draws a quick breath through his nose in an effort to keep the tears pricking his eyes from sliding down his cheeks. “It’s always been you,” Sherlock finishes. 

John smiles, really smiles this time. “I’ve told everyone I’m not gay, 10 times over.”

“Twenty-six times,” Sherlock corrects. “That I know of.”

“Yeah, well, I think I’m going to have to correct the record,” John says with a sparkle in his eye. “Because, if I’m honest, I’ve been a little bit in love with you since the night we chased a serial-killing cabbie across London. I haven’t wanted to think about it, so I don’t, but the thought of you and her…”

Before he can finish the dreaded thought, Sherlock Holmes covers the narrow distance between them, grabs John in his arms and kisses him. Once again, John feels like he’s spinning. It’s one of those romantic movie kisses where the music swells and the camera dances around the new lovers, finding possible angle where their lips fit together and where hands hold the back of a neck or grab at a waist. Or, at least that’s what John assumes it looks like from the outside. From the inside, he’s too busy being kissed to think of anything else. 

The kiss ends. Sherlock holds him as he gets his balance. 

“I thought you were married to the work,” John whispers as he tries to catch his breath.

“Yes, but it’s an open relationship. I’m allowed to take a lover if I’m discreet about it,” Sherlock says, nuzzling John’s neck with his nose.

A thrilling tingle goes up John’s spine. “Discreet, eh? Then we should probably close the curtains,” he says with a wicked grin.

“Whatever you say, John,” Sherlock mumbles as John pulls him down for another kiss. 

John is too busy kissing his best friend, his best man, the best man he has ever known to notice the sound of The Woman’s text alert going off in Sherlock’s pocket for the last time.


End file.
